


Recumbent II

by mattygroves



Series: Here in California 'Verse [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, what we have here is a failure to communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattygroves/pseuds/mattygroves
Summary: Rodney couldn’t even remember what they’d argued about; he’d still been mostly asleep.





	

Rodney couldn’t even remember what they’d argued about; he’d still been mostly asleep. He’d groaned at John leaving the bed to put on his running shorts while it was still dark outside. John had said something sarcastic and Rodney had sniped back. Then John tied in shoes in what Rodney considered to be a very passive aggressive manner, before stomping down the stairs and slamming the door shut behind him.

It was hardly an epic throw-down, especially for them, but Rodney hated the way even these little spats made him feel, like if he logged enough noxious behavior John would see he could do much, much better, and ask Rodney to move out. Who knows? Maybe today would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Something had shifted, barely a week ago, when Rodney had come home late from the lab, flying high on the thrill of discovery. “This is huge,” Rodney kept saying, kissing John sloppily all over his sleep-crumpled face, his neck. John just laughed, kissed him back, and congratulated him. Laughed even louder when Rodney admitted that maybe Zelenka had helped a little.

But over the next few days, John’s attitude had changed. He started to feel distant, and Rodney couldn’t understand why. A cold war had sprung up between them, and Rodney was Reagan and John was Gorbachev, or maybe it was the other way around. Both were shitty options and the metaphor was starting to give Rodney a tension headache right between his eyebrows.

He rubbed the spot with the heel of his hand. His initial reaction to any sort of human interaction problem was usually to ignore it and hope it would go away. And usually, the person did. The thought that that person might be John this time made Rodney’s insides twist. The usual route wasn’t going to cut it this time. Somebody had to tear down this wall. Maybe it had to be Rodney.

:::

John pushed himself, running until he couldn’t anymore, before collapsing on the grass in the park near his, no, _their_ house. It was already hot and the sun was just peaking over the low eastern hills, charging the sky with vibrant fuchsia and softer pinks, stretching with the cirrus clouds that covered the wide expanse of sky. The grass was itchy on his bare, sweaty back. John closed his eyes then opened them again. He liked it here.

But it was just a way station for Rodney on the path toward greatness—toward ideas so amazing and universe-shattering John couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around them. Maybe John was a temporary measure, too. He’d seen the fat letters pouring in immediately. MIT, Cal Tech, CERN. Dozens more, too, remote from John in more ways than distance. Remote from John in a way twenty years in the Air Force and a mere Master’s in applied mathematics couldn’t compete with. Maybe this...this _thing_ with Rodney had run its course. _Maybe that’s okay_ , he told himself, knowing it wasn’t.

He watched the clouds until they started to turn pale gold and the sun was fully over the hills before heaving himself off the ground with a grunt. He checked the zippered pocket inside his shorts, making the sure he still had the few bucks he’d stashed there.

:::

When John came in through the kitchen door, he paused to admire the sight of Rodney in his boxers cursing the blender back seven generations. The grating sound of the blender’s engine working way too hard stopped and Rodney’s berating gradually slowed to an indistinct grumble. John cleared his throat and Rodney spun around.

“Oh,” he said. “I, um, made you a smoothie.”

John smiled, holding up two coffee cups. “I swung by the place on Main Street.”

“Thank god, I don’t really think that green disaster is edible,” Rodney waved a hand at the blender and its contents. “I tried to do it like you do, but I guess I never paid that much attention to how you were doing it and in what order, I just like watching you—”

John cut him off with a kiss, holding the coffees carefully out to his sides as Rodney’s arms came tightly around his waist. It was Rodney who finally broke away, with John trying to follow him, a whine escaping his throat.

“No,” Rodney said, crossing his arms.

“But,” John blinked, confused, “I brought you coffee.”

“You’re going to do that thing where you distract me with your sweaty hotness. Are you ready to tell me what crawled up your butt and died this week?” Rodney asked acidly.

John groaned. “ _Rodney,_ ” he said, setting down the coffee and scrubbing his face with his hands. Rodney pounced on the bigger cup and took a gulp before looking back at John, stubbornly and expectantly.

“Rodney,” John said again, “I’m just, I—I’m really happy for your success.”

“Okay,” Rodney said slowly, “And you decided the best way to show that was to basically ignore me except to snipe at me for a whole week?”

“Five days,” John said, earning him a glare. He gave himself a quick internal pep talk and fixed his eyes on the open window past Rodney’s shoulder, as if the clematis growing on the old wooden fence had suddenly become fascinating. “I understand if this chapter of your life is over, the town, the lab, Teyla’s pool—“ _Me,_ he didn’t say.

Thankfully, Rodney heard his unspoken word.

“Are you insane? Did you hit your head on that deathtrap you call a skateboard and not tell me?”

John let his gaze fall, suddenly unable to meet or even approximate meeting Rodney’s eyes. “Oh my god,” he heard Rodney murmur, and then Rodney was in his space, pulling him into a crushing hug.

“I saw all the letters,” John said hoarsely. “I didn’t read them,” he was quick to add, “Just saw where they came from.”

“Most of them were for teaching positions,” Rodney said, his voice muffled by John’s shoulder. “Can you imagine? What a nightmare.”

John laughed a little at that.

“A few guest lectures,” Rodney continued, “Some of which I may accept. There’s a thing at Berkeley—I might take on a grad student or two if they give me enough lab space and fancy equipment, but god, _John_ , I don’t want to go anywhere and start over again. I don’t want to do it without you anymore.”

“Yeah,” said John, breathing deeply into the spot right behind Rodney’s ear, “Yeah. Same.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
